


Blue velvet.

by floatawaysomedays



Series: Before My Morning Coffee [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:51:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatawaysomedays/pseuds/floatawaysomedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of S9 timestamps.<br/>i think these might be getting more ridiculous as time goes on, just fyi. :))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue velvet.

Cas has a room, but he doesn’t sleep in it. 

The first night, Dean had turned down the sheets on the spare bed. Had turned the light out, whispered  _if you need anything, I’m right next door._ Cas hadn’t lasted two hours in that room by himself. Dean, nowhere near sleep, had watched as Cas lifted the corner of the sheets on his own bed, and slipped under without a word. Dean had said _anything_ , and he meant it. 

Even, _I’ll watch over **you** , if you want me to._

So, instead of buying Cas a nicer mattress for his bed, Dean ends up finding him a chair. 

A recliner. 

It’s an old thing he finds in a dusty corner of the bunker, practically an antique. The arms are scarred, the dark finish parting from the walnut as they grow into wings for the headrest, strange and beautiful. And it’s velvet. Blue velvet. The cushions are just this side of soft, and when Cas runs a hand along the back, Dean knows he can’t bear to throw it away. 

It’s terrible. Dean wishes he had given it a proper funeral in the yard with a box of matches and some gasoline. The springs make this godawful noise when Cas closes the thing. It echoes through the bunker. And it’s fucking  _heavy_ , a real pain in the ass to move anywhere. 

But it’s also kind of perfect. Cas starts falling asleep in it. He can drop off anywhere, anytime. Sam figures he has thousands of years of  _not sleeping_  to make up for. The chair becomes a second haven (because, unfortunately, Cas can’t stay in bed all day even if he wants to). When Dean starts dinner, Cas usually nods off for an hour or two.  A book in his hand, or on his chest. Blanket pulled up around him, settled around his legs.

Seriously, He’s adorable. 

"He’s out again." Sam says softly from the doorway. And there must be something about watching a former angel sleep, because Sam gets this big, dopey smile on his face, too.

Cas is wrapped up in a hoodie, hands folded on his stomach, ankles crossed. The footrest is significantly higher than the headrest. Something Cas had said about circulation, Dean doesn’t remember. 

He bumps shoulders with Sam, wipes his hands on one of the towels from the kitchen, and they just stand there. Listening to the quiet, and watching Cas’s chest rise and fall. It’s incredibly domestic. Dean doesn’t want to disturb any of it. He sometimes thinks that if he moves too fast, or yells too loud, that the dream of this place will dissipate. Disappear in a cloud of smoke, like everything else. 

But then he watches Cas sleep, and Sam smile and it doesn’t matter if they’re hunting tomorrow, because they have _this_ , today. 


End file.
